Initial Endeavors
by leyapearl
Summary: New college graduate Frank Hardy is asked by FBI Agent Kara Malone to work with her on a case involving a fake ID ring. As usual with the Hardy brothers, things are more complicated then they seem... Encrypted series.
1. Dinner

"Wow. Kara, that was fabulous." Frank pushed back from the table, one hand resting on his stomach. "I don't think I'm going to need to eat again for at least a week."

"Thanks. I'm glad you liked it." Kara stood and started gathering plates and silverware, stacking them up in front of her. "Joe said it was one of your favorites." She threw a knowing look at Frank. "I'd offer to send you home with some of the leftovers, but..."

Frank chuckled. "No need to explain. I lived with him longer than you have so far." He looked over at his brother, waiting for the expected outburst. None came. He eyed his brother curiously, but Joe simply sat in his chair, doodling on the table with his index finger.

"Let me help you with that," Anna said, pushing back her chair and starting to rise.

Kara put a hand out to stop her. "No need," she said, her brown eyes dancing, "I'm not dealing with them." She sat back down in her chair, and leaned her head against Joe's shoulder, a wide grin on her face. "Am I, dear?"

Joe grunted, looked down at her, and sighed. "Good thing I love you," he said, his voice flat. He turned an accusatory glare at his brother. "Do you have any idea how many pots and pans were needed to make this?" He waved a hand at the table.

Frank laughed. "Probably the same number I used the last time I made it." He raised an eyebrow. "Why so grumpy? It's not like we sat here and ate it in front of you."

"Thanksgiving." Joe huffed, but there was a glint in his eyes that let Frank know some of the attitude was posturing. Some. "I probably should have behaved better, but I really didn't think I'd be washing this many dishes. I mean, look at my hands," he held them up for inspection. "My knuckles are all dry and crackly."

"Hand lotion," Kara said, "and a growing appreciation of the fact that I usually do the cleaning up after dinner. Both things build character."

Joe turned to look at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "How does hand lotion build character?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It just does."

He rolled his eyes, picked up the stack of dishes, and crossed to the sink, squeezing a liberal amount of soap into the water now flowing from the faucet.

Anna followed him with her eyes, one hand twisting a curl through her fingers. "Joe, if you hate washing dishes so much, why didn't you find an apartment with a dishwasher? That's got to pretty easy these days."

A faint flush spread over Joe's cheeks, and he mumbled something at the growing pile of suds in the sink.

Frank walked over and leaned against the counter. "Didn't catch that, little brother. What did you say?"

Joe let out a breath and turned the water off. Once hand still on the faucet, he said, "I didn't think of it." At their astonished faces, he shrugged. "What can I say? I ate out a lot." He considered for a moment, a crease forming on his brow. "And usually ate the leftovers right out of the containers."

Kara shuddered, and Joe turned a pleading look at his brother. "Come on, 'bro, I've been doing dishes all afternoon. Take pity on me. I wash, you dry? It'll be just like when we were kids."

"When we were kids, I had to rewash everything you didn't clean properly." Frank gave him a long look. "Fine." He held up a hand to cut off Joe's shout of triumph. "Only because I want to keep Kara from having to re-do them later." He walked over to the other side of the sink, and grabbed the towel hanging over the dishrack.

They worked in silence for a few seconds, then Kara spoke up from the table. "I don't know about you," she said, giving Anna a sidelong glance, "but I could get used to this. It's a really nice view." She paused. "Maybe we could start a business. Hot guys doing housework. I bet we'd make millions."

Anna laughed, twisting her long, dark hair into a knot. "We'd have to get them in muscle tees and running shorts with aprons around their waists."

Kara smiled back at her. "Now there's a great mental image."

Joe frowned and poked his brother with his elbow. "I think we're being objectified," he said.

Frank glanced back at the animated conversation going on at the table, then picked up a pile of forks. "If you mean 'we' as in men, then yes. If you mean 'we' as in the two of us..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"... pushing a vaccum cleaner," Anna was saying. "If we have that as the splash picture on the website, I'm sure that will attract attention."

"Definitely," Kara agreed, then frowned slightly. "I don't think I've ever seen Joe vacuum. I seem to be the one who does that chore."

"I clean the bathroom," Joe said over his shoulder. "Doesn't that count for something?"

"No," Kara said, her eyes unfocused, "you're the one who messes it up."

"I vaccum," Frank said, opening a drawer and putting away the silverware.

"I know," Anna said, an arch look on face. "That's what gave me the idea."

"He does a good job, too." Kara paused. "Man, I haven't thought about that in a long time. I mean, the last time I saw Frank doing housework was..." She went still, her eyes first growing unfocused, then snapping up. "... Moscow."

Frank's head swerved, his eyes locking on to hers. A sudden tension filled the room. "That was a long time ago."

Anna's voice broke into the silence. "What was in Moscow?"

"You two went to Russia, and neither of you ever thought to mention it to me?" Annoyance filled Joe's voice. "When was this?"

Slowly, Frank's gaze shifted from Kara to Joe. "Not Russia. Moscow, Idaho." He turned to look at Anna, his face a careful blank. "Our first case together. Mine and Kara's."

"Oh, that. Here. Take this." Joe pushed a dripping plate at his brother. "I never got the whole story behind that. What happened?"

Kara turned away from Frank's eyes to look at Joe. "Officially? We shut down a fake document operation."

"And unofficially?" Anna leaned forward in her chair, her long hair brushing the top of the table.

Frank finished wiping the plate and put it down on the counter, folding the dishtowel on top of it. "Unofficially?" He cleared his throat. "Well, unofficially, we shut down a homegrown terrorist cell."

Author's Note: I have the first three chapters of this completed and will try to post them one a week. As my son has gotten older, my writing time has gotten more scarce, so after those chapters updates will be slow. I have the plot mapped out but finding the time to work on it may be difficult. I can promise, though, that I will not abandon the story, and, as is my usual practice, I will respond to all reviewers who have PM enabled in their profiles.

I hope you enjoy! - Leya


	2. Recruitment

Thanks to Caranath, Zenfrodo, bhar, max2013, ukfan101, hlahabibty, SnowPrincess88, and Xenitha for their lovely words, and thanks to all who read chapter 1 without leaving a review. (If you do, I respond to everyone.) As promised, here's chapter two. Enjoy!

* * *

Rookie FBI agent Kara Malone took a deep breath and checked her reflection in the glass of conference room door. She still wasn't used to the shorter haircut, even if Lynne felt it made her look older.

"Face it, Kar," her older sister had said when Kara had been home on leave, "with your hair halfway down your back, you look about twelve. You're short and cute, and all anyone is going to want to do is lean down and pinch your cheeks. Even with the gun, bad guys just aren't going to take you seriously."

"I've been wearing it up." Kara pulled her hair into a pony tail and twisted it into bun on the back of her head and leaned against the headboard of her sister's bed. "Like this. I can just keep doing that."

Lynne frowned, her green eyes narrowing. "No. With the dark suit and the bun, you'll look like a kid trying be a stereotype. All you need are glasses perched on the end of your nose and a finger at your lips. Shhh." She reached behind her sister's head and unwound the twist of hair, folding it to different lengths. "There. Just below your shoulders. You can still put it up when you run, but it will look more professional when it's down." She laughed. "Might even make you look fifteen. Sixteen if you're lucky." She had laughed then ducked as Kara launched a pillow at her head.

Looking at her image now, Kara had to admit Lynne had been right, she did look more like she belonged in the office and not in a park, waiting for her turn on the swings. "Here goes," she muttered. She grasped the door handle and pulled it open. Once in the conference room, she found an empty seat at the foot of the table, where she would have a good view of the rest of the participants, and frowned slightly as she realized was the youngest in the room. Again. She pulled out her notes and scanned them, double- and triple-checking the details she already had memorized and waiting for the other rookie to get here.

The door opened again, this time admitting an agent who appeared to be about fifty, with gray eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and the requisite dark-colored suit. He nodded to all of them, and Kara returned the gesture along with everyone else. This was Special Agent Arthur Vickers, the agent who had come in from the Washington bureau to take charge of this mission. She craned her neck to see if anyone else was behind him. The door swung closed without anyone else entering.

"Thank you all for coming," Vickers said, the door swinging shut behind him, "but I'm afraid this is going to be a very short meeting." He huffed out a breath. "We need to push back the operation. The timeline is now unspecified."

"We have to _postpone_ the mission?" The words were out of Kara's mouth before she could stop them.

Silence blanketed the room, the older agents sitting around the table shocked by their junior colleague's outburst.

Vickers laid both hands on the table, palms down, and turned his gaze toward the speaker. "Agent Malone, right? Yes. We have to postpone the mission." He lifted a hand to curtail the protest he assumed was coming, then cleared his throat, making sure he had everyone's attention. "We got a call from the Denver office this morning. Carl DeMillo was injured yesterday." One of the other agents gasped. "He was hit by a car while out grocery shopping. His right leg was broken in two places. It's being investigated, but all indications are that it was an unfortunate accident; the brakes on the other vehicle failed." Vickers let out a breath. "And since the only available people with his specific skill set who look the right age are still in Quantico right now, we've hit a wall. I refuse to send in a newbie who hasn't finished his training."

"So what are we going to do in the meantime?" A stocky agent in his late thirties asked, his voice sounding exasperated. "We've put in a lot of surveillance time on this case. I'd hate to see it fall apart."

"None of us want that, Mel," Vickers said with a sigh. "But until we can find a computer geek with detective experience..." His voice trailed off, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"What if we brought in a contractor?" All eyes turned to the bottom of the table. Kara could feel her face warming and wanted to shift in her seat but forced herself to remain still, knowing the more senior agents at the table would take the motion as a sign of uncertainty, of weakness.

"A civilian?" Vickers stood, surprise etched in the lines around his eyes. "Agent Malone, I know you're anxious for your first mission, but we can't risk it. You know how dangerous this could be."

Kara Malone's brown eyes met the Vickers' grey ones. "I do." She swallowed. "And I think I know just the man for the job."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Whoa. There's still stuff in here!" Frank watched as his younger brother Joe craned his neck around the room. "I would've figured you'd be done with this last week or something." A grin formed on Joe's face, amusement evident in his blue eyes as he shook his head in mock-disappointment. "You're slipping, Frank."

Frank looked around the half-empty room that had been his home for the past four years. With the posters and pictures taken down and the pile of neatly stacked, but still mostly empty, boxes on Roger's side of the room – _Do__n'__t __think about that_, he told himself – it looked more like a storage closet than a dorm room. The only indications that someone lived there were the sheets on the long, narrow bed, the towel folded over the bed frame, and the plastic cup on the desk holding a razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste. _And my clothes in the closet, and the books on the bookshelf. __Why didn't I finish packing this morning?_ He ran a hand through the hair falling into his eyes and stifled a yawn.

"Frank?" His mother's voice startled him, forcing him to focus on the fact his parents and brother were staring at him, waiting for a response. "Your brother needs to get back to school. If you're tired, we can skip dinner, and I can wait while you finish packing and drive home with you." She tilted her head to one side, examining him with narrowed eyes. "Or, rather, drive you home. You look exhausted."

Joe cocked his head to one side, mirroring his mother's movement, his left foot tapping out a furious pattern on the cracking linoleum tiles. "Make up your mind, 'bro. As much as I want food, I've got finals tomorrow and Tuesday, and I could use some last minute cramming."

"Joseph, give your brother a minute," their father said. "It's not every day he graduates from college." Fenton gave his older son a fond smile, then his voice took on a teasing note. "Just don't take too long, son. We wouldn't want Joe to miss his study time." His gaze turned toward his younger son, one eyebrow raised. "It will take him longer to get back to school with all those snack breaks he needs."

"Hey!" Joe spread his hands out in front of him. "It's not my fault I have an efficient metabolism."

Laura shook her head. "Efficient isn't the word, I would use, dear. Over-enthusiastic comes much closer."

Frank started to laugh, choking slightly as the yawn escaped. He blinked a few times and looked at his family with bleary eyes. "Maybe we could do the celebration after Joe's semester is over I think," he swallowed down another yawn, "I'll crash here tonight and finish packing tomorrow. I can get up early, load up the car, and be home before lunch."

"Are you sure, dear?" Laura's blue eyes showed a glimmer of worry. "I don't mind helping you pack and doing the driving."

"I'm sure." Frank could feel his shoulders slump. "Mostly, I don't want to have to unpack the car to find my pajamas when we get home. I'm wiped out."

"That's what you get for being an over-achiever, 'bro. If you'd stuck with just one major..." The sentence cut off as Joe lurched to the side to avoid Frank's open hand aiming for the top of his head. "You missed..." Surprise was evident in his voice. "You _must_ be tired."

"That's what I've been telling you." Frank looked at them all. "Dad, you and Mom should go home, and Mr. Metabolism can head back to school. I'll get a good night's sleep and come home tomorrow."

A few minutes later, the room was quiet again. Frank leaned against his desk, sighed, and pulled a battered copy of _Mansfield Park_ from the book shelf. _Most pathetic college graduate ever, _he thought as he stretched out on the bed and opened the book.

Several hours later, his cell phone rang, Joe's voice crackling through the receiver. "You're reading, aren't you?"

"Tell me you're back at NYU and not talking on your phone while driving."

"Worrywart."

"Joe!"

"Hey, calm down. Traffic was light. I'm at my desk. Books are open and everything." There was a pause. "I just wanted to say congratulations. You did a massive amount of work. I couldn't have done what you did and stayed sane."

Frank rubbed his eyes. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

"It was. Just don't let it go to your head." Joe snorted. "I still think you're a freak."

"Thanks." Frank's voice was dry. "And, uh, just so you know? I didn't miss this afternoon."

"Huh?"

"The dope slap. I didn't miss. I was being nice and not scrambling your brains while you still had two finals to go. Now go study." Frank clicked the end call button, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning Frank rose early and slowly packed up the rest of his belongings, feeling strangely reluctant to finish. Although he knew graduating meant he and Joe were one step closer to opening their own agency, he felt as if he were in a holding pattern. Studying for his degrees had been challenging and had given him a goal to meet; now he had to wait a year for Joe to finish school, and while he knew he would be working with his father during that time, it almost felt like taking a step backwards when what he really wanted to do was run forward as fast as he could into the unknown. He sighed. _It'll be good experience_, he told himself. _There's still a lot more I can learn from Dad._

Finally, he loaded everything in the car but one last box. He picked it up and gave the room a cursory glance, making sure he hadn't missed anything. He hadn't. Dust on the bookshelf outlined where his books had been for the last few years, and white, cement block walls stared back him, institutional and empty. He let out a long breath. "Time to go," he muttered.

The knock on the open door startled him enough that the box slipped from his grip and landed on the floor with a loud thud. As he bent over to pick it up, his heart pounding, he heard a throat being cleared.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Hardy. Have you got a moment?"

Frank froze, cursing inwardly that he had allowed someone to get that close to him without his being aware of it. The voice was familiar. Female, young, a trace of a Boston accent... Turning slowly as he rose, an unmistakable sense of déjà vu stole over him. Same suit, same stance, shorter hair, now pulled back in a pony tail instead of twisted into bun on the back of her head. He stopped himself from letting out a sigh.

"Agent Malone. What can I do for you?"

Outwardly she looked exactly the same as she had when she had knocked on his door in January, but something seemed different about her. _Other than the haircut_, Frank thought. She looked... unsure. At their first meeting she had exuded a confidence that had bordered on disdain, obviously only requesting his assistance because she had been been ordered to. Now, she radiated a tense uncertainty. He put the box down on the bed, and gestured to the desk chair. "Please, sit down."

She nodded in acknowledgment and crossed the room in efficient strides. Frank sat next to the box and gave her an expectant look.

Silence settled on them like a blanket of fog, growing more uncomfortable with each passing second, and Frank had to fight the urge to tap his fingers on the box, to make himself remain still, to school his features into an impassive mask. _Don't jump, Hardy. Keep it calm_, he thought. _ She came to you._

The corner of Malone's mouth twitched, almost as if she could read his thoughts. "You're probably wondering why I'm here." Her voice cut through the silence without diminishing the tension in the room.

He nodded, trying to keep his brown eyes from betraying a flash of curiosity. "The question had crossed my mind."

Malone leaned forward as she spoke, a strand of hair escaping from the hair band, and brushing her cheek. "I'd like to offer you a job."


	3. Training

Thanks to max2013, hlahabibty, Caranath, Xenitha, and ukfan101 for their reviews. As I said initially, I had the first three chapters written, and here is chapter three. Now the wait begins. I will post each subsequent chapter as soon as it is complete, but I can't promise it will be soon. RL spends too much time getting in my way. Enjoy.

* * *

"What?" The word exploded from Frank's chest. Whatever he might have thought the agent was going to say, this hadn't even made the list. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "A job? I don't understand."

Malone leaned back in the chair again, more in control now that the first words were out. "You interested me when we met in January, so I did some research on you. I was... impressed to say the least. Computer skills, detective experience, recommendations from senior members of the bureau..." She ticked each item off on one of her fingers as she spoke. "And you're the right age."

"What do you mean 'the right age'?" His eyes narrowed.

The agent's expression went blank, a slight tightening around her lips the only indication of discomfort or nervousness. "I... _We_ need someone who can pass as a college student. More specifically, a college dropout." She looked him straight in the face. "It's taken us a while to track down this guy's location, and I don't want to lose him. If the pattern we've seen is any indication, he'll be on the move again in a few months. Then we have to start all over." The fingers of her left hand curled in toward her palm. "Again." The word came from between clenched teeth.

Despite everything, Frank found himself growing interested. An actual case, working with the FBI – even if he didn't know the details, and even if it only lasted a few months – sounded much more inteesting than reorganizing the files at his father's office while he waited for the Joe to graduate from college the next year. But there was something off here...

"What happened to your partner?" He had to admit he felt somewhat gratified when Malone flinched.

"What do you mean?" Her expression morphed into one of unconcern. He also had to admit to being impressed at how quickly she recovered. "I don't have a partner.

"Not now, you don't," he said, "but I'm fairly sure the Bureau wouldn't be sending a rookie undercover without backup. And you just said you needed someone who could pass as a college dropout. Nothing personal, but you look more like a high school student than a federal agent." Her shoulders stiffened as he paused to let the words sink in. "Look, I need to know what happened before I can make any decisions." His head tilted to one side. "Was he found out? Did your guy discover you're on to him?"

Malone snorted delicately, and her shoulders relaxed. "No. He was being a good samaritan, changing an old man's tire in a grocery store parking lot, and was hit by some guy who backed out of his space without looking. Broken leg, concussion." She sighed. "He's on desk duty for a few months while his leg heals, and by that time..." She shrugged. "Perfectly innocent accident, less than optimal timing."

Frank nodded, understanding her frustration. "So, what's your guy done?"

"False IDs." Malone leaned forward. "Normally it wouldn't be our jurisidiction, but they keep being found in states other than where he's operating at the time."

"Are they good?"

This time she nodded. "Some of the best we've come across. Licenses from at least twenty-eight states, almost picture-perfect. We know he's down a guy and some equipment as his last location was raided by state troopers in Rhode Island. The guy turned state's evidence to reduce his sentence, so we at least have an idea where the operation was headed next."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"Moscow, Idaho."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"So, what do you think, Dad?" Frank finished drying the roasting pan, then put it away with the rest of the cookware. He and his father were cleaning up after dinner, his mother and aunt sitting outside in the cool early summer evening. "Should I take it?"

After Agent Malone had left, he had sat in the now-empty room thinking over what she had said before making the drive back to Bayport, and when his mother jokingly asked why it had taken so long for him to get home, the story had spilled out.

Fenton Hardy regarded his older son with shadowed eyes. "It could be a good opportunity for you son. Experience, connections..."

"But?" The unspoken word had hung in the air at the end of his father's sentence.

There was a long pause. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Frank, but are you sure you're ready for something like this?" He held up his hands to forestall the words of protect he knew would be coming. "I know you and your brother are good." A faint smile crossed his face. "You were taught by the best, after all. But this will be different. For starters, you'll be alone."

"No. Agent Malone and I will be partners. With back up." Frank could hear the note of irritation in his voice and tried to swallow it down.

Fenton raised his hands again. "That's true, but you don't know her all that well, her strengths and weaknesses, how good she is, and there are details about your back up they won't share with a contractor." He paused. "And you won't have Joe." He looked at his son. "I trust your judgment, Frank, and will back you up no matter what you decide, but do you want your first case of this type to be with someone you don't know as well as your brother?"

Frank froze. Intellectually, he had realized if he took the job he'd be doing it without Joe, but had he really understood what it meant? They had worked as a team for so long, they could react automatically to almost any challenge. What would it be like working with someone he would have to explain his actions to? He turned his gaze toward his father. "So, you think I should turn it down?"

"I didn't say that," his dad responded. "I think _you _need to decide what to do. I just think you need to decide it with a full understanding of what you're getting yourself into." He stood, turning toward the living room. "I'm going to go see if you mother would like some tea." As he was about to leave the kitchen, he turned to face Frank again, smiling. "It's good to have you home, son. Happy graduation. And welcome to the real world." He chuckled as he left the room.

Frank swallowed, sighed, then walked over to where the phone hung on the wall by the sink. He punched in Joe's cell phone number and took a deep breath. The phone rang once, twice...

"I'm only taking a break for dinner." Joe's voice sounded muffled, the words not entirely clear.

"What are you eating?"

There was a swallowing noise, then a moment of coughing before Joe came back on the line. "Frank? Geez, 'bro, I thought you were Aunt Gertrude. She's been calling every few hours to make sure I'm studying and not goofing around." The sound of something being crumpled sounded in Frank's ear.

"Well, you are, right? Studying I mean." Frank leaned against the counter, a smile forming on his face.

"What do you take me for, an idiot? Don't answer that." There was a pause, and Frank could tell Joe was taking another bite of something. "Of course I'm studying. Or I was. Now I'm eating. Then I'll go back to studying." Another bite. "So, what's up? I'm pretty sure _you're_ not calling to tell me to study harder."

"I know a lost cause when I see it," Frank said, a laugh escaping from his lips. "And, yes, I'm kidding." The laughter died as he remembered the reason for the call. "Look, I don't want to take up to much of your studying time, but I have a question for you." He paused, trying to think of the best words to use. "I've been offered a job."

Joe spluttered into the phone. "Dude, you just got home, what, two hours ago? How could you...?"

"Remember the FBI agent I told you about? The one who was looking into Roger's disappearance?"

"Yeah, why?" There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "She wants you to work with her? Are you planning on joining the Bureau?" Disbelief and suspicion crept into Joe's voice.

"No." Frank made sure the word was firmly spoken and was almost positive he heard a relieved breath coming from his brother. "She wants me as a contractor. Short-term only. It should just be a couple of months at the most."

"Oh." There were chewing noises, then a noisy swallow. "You taking it?"

"I think so." Frank paused. "I wanted to run it by you first."

"Why?"

"Because you're my _partner_. I didn't want you to hear it from Mom or Dad and think I was deserting you."

Joe grunted. "Oh. Good. Well, anyway, it should be more interesting than spending your days filing cold cases in Dad's office. And don't tell him I said that."

This time Frank laughed. "I won't. Mainly because I was thinking the same thing."

A muffled shout came from Joe's end of the line. "Hey, 'bro, I have to go. My study partner says dinner break is over. Good luck, and tell me everything."

It wasn't until the call ended that Frank realized he hadn't found out what Joe had been eating.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Training started in earnest the day after Frank arrived in Washington. There were briefings on their identities, sessions with with more senior agents regarding wardrobes, and meetings with tech staff about the types of surveillance equipment they would have access to. Except for the technology, which Frank wished he could spend more time investigating, most of it was fairly routine.

Except that he wasn't working with Joe.

Agent Malone – Kara, he kept needing to remind himself – was bright, attentive, and ambitious, Frank could see that right away. She also had very limited experience with undercover work, and it was getting to her in a big way. Their handlers had them act out different situations in their new personas, and each time, Malone could only get so far before she forgot an important piece of character work or tripped on a minor detail. Once their wardrobes had been worked out, Frank insisted they continue the training sessions in their new clothes.

His was fairly simple – distressed jeans with patches over the knees, a tighter than he would usually wear t-shirt, and a faded plaid flannel button up shirt. He hadn't had a chance to get his hair cut and used it to the character's advantage, keeping it messy and hanging in his face.

Malone's outfit was another matter entirely.

"Explain to me again why I'm dressed like this?" Agent Malone's irritation radiated from her like an aura surrounding her body. Her eyes were granite and her shoulders so tight Frank could almost see the proverbial chip on them, both of which provided an interesting contrast to the purple-tipped ponytails hanging from either side of her head and the artfully torn, pink 'Hello Kitty' t-shirt she wore over a black tank top.

"It's a disguise," Frank said, making sure to keep his voice even. He was fairly sure her service revolver was hidden somewhere in the baggy camouflage pants she wore, and he didn't want to antagonize her. There was something about the operation that displeased her, and he hoped it wasn't him. After all, she had been the one to call him. He cleared his throat before continuing. "One that would be more effective if you didn't carry yourself like a federal agent."

"I _am_ a federal agent," she snarled, glaring at him. "Or have you forgotten that fact?"

Frank pushed the bangs from his eyes. He hated when his hair was this long. Even though he knew it was necessary for the job, it made it hard to see everything he needed to. "Not now you're not. Now you're Carrie McAllister. You can keep the anger as part of your character – it fits the pseudo-goth look you've got going on – but you've got to loosen up your posture, or no one's going to buy that you're who you say you are. Watch." He took a breath, then relaxed his shoulders making his neck to droop slightly, the hair flopping back over his eyes, then forced his expression into one of annoyance. "Dad said I hafta look out for you, so you gotta come with me. Got it?" The words, spoken in a nasal Boston accent, sounded bored and resigned.

Malone stilled, her eyes widening. "How do you do that?"

"Practice," Frank said in the other voice. "A whole lotta practice." He straightened up, cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow at her. "Your turn."

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. As she exhaled, she slumped her shoulders down, tilted her head to the side, and shifted so most of her weight was on her right leg. When she opened her eyes, most of the anger was gone, replaced by a petulant sullenness. "This better?" Her native Boston accent deepened, the 'r' at the end of the word disappearing.

"What's your name?" Frank straightened up, deliberately using his own voice.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Really? You can't keep track of your sister's name? Jerk."

"And who am I?"

"Zack McAllister," she said, a hint of loathing in her voice. "My wicked lame older brother. Loser who's never met a comic book or a computer he doesn't like better than a person."

Frank nodded. "Not bad. You're still a little stiff. And don't embellish too much. It's easier if you keep it simple."

Malone straightened, her expression changing to one of grudging respect. "It's not just computers you're good at, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You make this look easy," she said, her hand making a sweeping motion. "I called you from out of nowhere to assist us, and not only are you not nervous, you're giving me advice on how to go undercover. How long have you been doing this anyway?"

"A long time." Frank pushed the hair out of his eyes again. "My brother and I have been solving mysteries for years. Sometimes with our dad, sometimes on our own."

"If he's anything like you, we could use you both at the FBI."

A chuckle escaped from Frank's lips. "Uh, no. Joe doesn't do real well with people telling him what to do. He'd spend more time in trouble than on the job." He shook his head. "Definitely not. Once he graduates we're opening our own agency." His eyes took on a faraway look. "It's been our dream since we were kids. We make a great team." He pulled himself back from thoughts of the future. "Now, let's try that again."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After several days of going over their new personas, Kara was feeling more confident in her ability to become Carrie McAllister. She and Frank – _Zack, I need to think of him as Zack_ – had gone to one of the nearby malls for an afternoon to see how others would react to their characters, and she was feeling rather pleased with the results.

At one point, she and Frank had disappeared into a crowd of older teenagers and watched with glee as their handlers scanned the food court trying, with limited success, to find them. A half hour later when they emerged from the group with ice cream cones, the older agents had whisked them back to the office, complaining about the action. Frank had merely cocked his head to one side and said, "I thought the point was to blend in, to make other kids think we were their age. I'd say we did pretty well."

The handlers – babysitters, Frank had called them in his Zack persona – were not impressed, and left them in one of the conference rooms to report on their behavior to the higher-ups.

After a half hour with no word from any of the other team members, Kara felt herself getting nervous. "What if we get in trouble?"

Frank simply shrugged. "If they want us to get used to being these other people, then they can't complain when we are." He moved his hand up and down, indicating her ripped jeans and studded leather jacket. "Can you see Zack and Carrie waiting around for an adult to tell them what to do and where to go?"

"I guess not." She let out a breath, watching as his eyes darted toward the door. "What?"

"Footsteps. Get back into character."

She relaxed her shoulders and shifted most of her weight onto one hip. As the door opened, she casually lifted one hand and started examining the fingernails on her right hand. Her index finger was chipped again. _Have to make sure I watch it when I'm shooting_, she thought. _I must be catching in on the trigger guard._

"Why the hell did I get called out of work this time? What the hell were you two doing?" Kara didn't recognize the voice that came from the doorway, and it caught her by surprise. The Boston accent was deeper than her own, and the anger in the words were clear. She flinched without meaning to, noticing from the corner of her eye, that Frank stood stock-still, intentionally not acknowledging the other person in the room. She turned to see who the speaker was, and started.

The man appeared to be in his early sixties, had salt-and-pepper hair covered by a faded Red Sox baseball cap, was unshaven with a week old beard sprouting from his cheeks, wore a plaid jacket over a tattered, button-up shirt, and had an annoyed expression on his face.

"Carrie, what were you doin' in that mall?"

Kara blinked. The voice... It was Agent Vickers.

"Carrie?!" The anger in that one word was crystal clear.

"Nothin'" Frank spoke the word in a tone that indicated he didn't care who was asking or how pissed off he might be.

Vickers stomped over to the table and pushed a chair out of his way to stand next to Frank. "You don't get to use that tone with me, Zack. Don't forget, I'm the one in charge here, not you."

Frank lifted his eyes to the older man's, tilted his head to one side, then lifted his right hand – palm facing in – and calmly gave the man the finger. "Like. I. Care."

Kara sucked in a breath, her eyes closing. _Oh, G-d, no._ She opened her eyes in time to see Vickers slap the top of Frank's head with an open palm.

"You better care, you stupid punk."

"What're you gonna do if I don't, send us back to Boston?" Frank snorted. "I'd rather be there than this pit stop."

The two men glared at each other for a moment, then Vickers straightened up. "Not bad," he said, a grin starting to form on his face. "You think fast on your feet. Of course, I'd expect as much from one of Fenton's sons."

"Thank you, sir," Frank replied. His lips twisted in an expression of chagrin. "Sorry about the rude gesture, sir."

Vickers laughed and held out his right hand. "Arthur Vickers. I'll be the accompanying adult for the two of you. Widowed father of you two delinquents. And no need to apologize, I think it's just what Mr. McAllister would have done." He glanced at Kara. "I think you may have shocked Agent Malone, however."

Kara shook her head, feeling the color coming back into her cheeks. "Maybe just a little."

"You'll get over it," Vickers said. "You have to if you're going to be successful undercover." His expression sobered up. "Which will be sooner than I had thought. Apparently our entrepreneur got his shop set up more quickly than we thought he would. We're heading out the day after tomorrow."


End file.
